


Soft Suburbanite Fantasy

by ArtHistory



Series: The Entity's Domain [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Eating, Emotional Slow Burn, Immediate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Playing House, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Suburbia, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Jake Park is a wilderness survivalist, pulled violently into a world where violent sociopaths are tasked to hunt him down.Michael Myers is one of those sociopaths.Except he and Jake fuck. A lot.Somewhere in and around all that, Jake starts to get soft.And if taboo is socio-cultural, perhaps the most erotic, forbidden thing a person can be is soft.But is there space to be soft in a world like this? If there isn't, Michael Myers seems ready to widen as many door frames as he needs to.Maybe literally.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Jake Park
Series: The Entity's Domain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028442
Comments: 29
Kudos: 282





	1. Soft Beginnings

He was losing patience.

Michael rarely got rough, unless asked, but it was clear he was frustrated, the eyes of his mask not revealing whether the tight grip of Jake’s shoulders and the quick *thump* against one of the infamous hiding places scattered throughout the map was from callous annoyance or confused concern. Jake felt his body smack against the hard wood of the locker, though it wasn’t the part of his body he was expecting.

The normally fit, stealthy, mischievous survivor was used to his knobby spine, or his toned shoulders being the first to tap something when Michael didn’t know how to communicate. This time? Jake felt his ass *slap* against the unforgiving oak. It danced, obscenely, on impact, sending a *wobble* up through his love handles and around the oh-so-bitable lip of cream along his lower belly. The movement only made Jake flex his abs harder, a move which helped him realize just how weak his doughy stomach had become.

They both heard Michael’s Hex pop. It wouldn’t be long now before Jake’s fellow survivors were scrambling on generators and coming to find him - and they both knew a discovery of he and Michael’s rendezvous would be disastrous for both of them.

Jake huffed, looking away, refusing to meet Michael’s cool, blue eyes.

“I just...m-maybe we have to skip this little thing for tonight, huh?” 

Michael released him immediately, taking a step back. He turned 180 degrees, heading for the door.

“No I’m not- Look this ...I'm not ending whatever-” Jake flushed, gesturing wildly between himself and the remarkably tall, jumpsuited killer, “I’m just...I…”

Jake jumped. 

Michael had turned back around, and was much, much closer now, he head cocked at an angle. His hands reached out, breathing heavy.

“N-No I-” Jake huffed, swatting the man’s hands away, “Look I…Let me just...show you…” 

Jake’s heart pounded. He’d had his share of hookups, though oddly enough this sociopathic giraffe was probably the longest “relationship” he’d ever been in. If you called fucking a serial killer every couple of days in a shack a relationship. But, in this realm...sometimes that’s what a relationship was.

Michael’s head cocked again, this time at the opposite angle, as Jake struggled with his hoodie, pulling it off and tossing it at his feet.

“Dwight and - and David figured out you can actually *eat* the cake the Entity rewards us with and-” Jake said, his voice high, tight as he tugged his shirt up over his head. Michael’s back straightened as the soft cotton fell at his feet.

“And I uh-” Jake’s abs, what was left of them, quivered before he finally sighed.

“Oh fuck it.”

With an exhale, the full force of Jake’s overfed middle spilled out into the cool, night air. It spilled out over his jeans. The button strained audibly, causing more color to rise to the Asian-American’s cheeks, spreading up to the tips of his ears. His lower belly was widest, navel a notably deep indent on an otherwise perfect sea of caramel cream. Jake slipped his hands beneath that voluptuous lower lip, giving the weighty thing a bounce, then a slap. Waves rocked through the ocean of it, a proper beer belly if he’d ever seen one. A diet solely of sugar did that to a rockin set of abs - turned them to absolute jello. The softness wrapped about to once toned obliques, spoiled into flabby love handles, each one more than the size of one’s palm. His chest had softened, only just noticeably, a bit of bounceable jiggle added to an otherwise firm set of pecs. This was not the body of a wilderness survivalist - this was the body of the son of a CEO he’d tried to avoid for so long, but seemed ingrained into his genes. No wonder he’d blown up so fast...

“I’ve been ...I've been eating them. Dwight keeps offering me his, when he isn’t offering them to David.” Jake added, scratching at the back of his head. He felt that kiss of softness at his chin when he leaned forward. He could only imagine that it would double, and his face would round if he kept his eating up.

Another generator sounded in the distance.

“Well...now that you’re sufficiently turned off, let’s just slip out and maybe we can meet back up in-”

Jake saw stars.

The back of his head ached, likely from being so roughly forced back into the locker. He kissed back on instinct, only realizing he was so deep into a desperately needy snog as he felt Michael bucking his impressive and comically hard member against his overfed middle. The killer’s hands roamed Jake’s softened form, locking onto, grabbing, wobbling any handhold he could find - and he could find a lot of them. His tits, the dough around his navel, his fatty love handles. Jake’s head lolled back, Michael taking advantage and *sinking* his teeth into the man’s neck, sucking a red, then purple mark there. Jake cried out in arousal.

Michael stumbled back. His breath was heavy, cock tenting his suit, mask half-rolled up over his lips. Jake struggled to catch his breath, heart thundering as he felt pink handprints form all across his body.

“So you...you like this, huh?” Jake panted, a slow grin creeping over his face

Michael nodded, slowly.

Jake grinned wide now, the face of a man who knew how to effectively hone the wild, twist it to his will.

“Well then, tiger, you’re gonna love my ass.”

Jake had barely finished unbuttoning his jeans before Michael was forcefully spinning him around. He slammed the survivor’s hands against the inside of the locker before nipping at Jake’s ear. Michael’s massive hands slide against, then inside the stretched elastic of Jake’s boxer-briefs. Enraptured, Michael’s breathing was heavy, ragged as he hefted each, fatty cheek in his hand, making them bounce against his fingers, kneading the rich dough hugging what Michael and Jake were used to being hard, tight muscle.

“Like that don’t you, you hedon.” Jake teased.

Michael straightened.

“Hot for me all fattened up, huh?” Jake panted, feeling his heart pound, cock pulse as he teased Michael, himself, “Imagining me all overfed, bloated in some fancy kitchen? You want to make me look all soft, suburban? Is that what it is? Am I you fat, suburban housewife, you kinky bastard?”

The next thing Jake heard was his underwear violently torn away. The next thing he felt was Michael’s right hand roughly *spank* his right cheek.

Jake gasped, moaned, one hand releasing the wall to grab, lock onto, pump his pre-cum slicked cock, his knees going weak as he felt Michael’s tongue begin slowly, agonizingly working open his hole.

“F-Fuck! M-Michael! You-” Jake felt sweat forming on his forehead, hearing Michael unzip his jumpsuit, fish out his mammoth cock, and start stroking, “Y-You really love this fat ass, huh? Needy bastar-” Jake winced as his left cheek was abused as his right had been, swearing he heard Michael let out the softest moan as Jake’s ass *bounced* against his cheeks. 

Jake cried out, gasped for air as Michael’s tongue penetrated him, fucking him mercilessly as his free hand squeezed, wobbled, kneading his left cheek.

“Hah! Fu- I-I’m so fucking fat, Michael. Been sitting on my lazy ass eating sugar. Cake. Getting so spoiled, so round. Eating, gorging, Just a spoiled little suburbanite, perfect for a kinky fucker like yo-”

With a cry. Jake came, splattering the wall of the locker with his ecstasy. Michael wasn’t far behind, his hands locking onto Jake’s fat ass before leaning back onto his heels. He cleaned himself up with the shredded remains of Jake’s underwear, slowly rising, zipping his suit, and turning Jake around to do the same. 

The survivalist looked fully blissed. He was panting, smiling dumbly, Michael cocking his head as he reach out to explore, prod, wobble Jake’s gut. The man hiccupped, belched. He tugged his jeans back up, Michael reaching around to lock Jake into place, keep him from getting his shirt back on as the Exit Gates were powered, and the countdown to the end of the match began.

“That was...that might have been our best fling yet.” Jake tried to joke, getting his shirt back on, the leaving it half rolled up above his gut, Michael’s hands blocking the rest of the way. The killer was still breathing heavy, wobbling it in his hands until Jake’s sweatshirt slipped over it.

Jake offered, turning to face the killer, who looked as stoic as ever. Cheekily he tugged the bottom of Michael’s mask, kissing the rubber lips covering the killer’s own.

“I’ll burn an offering next time, maybe we can...try out this little fantasy on Lampkin Lane?”

Michael’s breathing grew heavier.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”


	2. Suburbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked for more! Here is more! Please comment if you liked :)

It was a perfect night on Lampkin Lane.

The air of The Shape’s realm was normally cold. Icy. It bit at your throat, and made you question if the shiver down your spine came from the Entity’s created weather - or Michael Myers’ eyes on you. 

But tonight? This was the crisp night of a festive Halloween. Cool enough to keep you from sweating through your costume, but warm enough to give you appetite to gorge yourself on Halloween candy. Jake’s stomach gurgled.

Fuck. The idea of gorging himself on Halloween candy shouldn’t make him so…

He swallowed, quickly dropping the key he’d brought near the hatch and hurrying towards the Myers’ House. Jake could *feel* just how much thicker his ass has gotten since he and Michael’s last rendezvous. He tugged at his green trail jacket, feeling what is a bit more than the pot belly he’d had that fateful night in the shack press against its zipper, battling the metal teeth for more room to breathe. Expand. He layed a hand on it, listening to it gurgle, blorp excitedly at the idea of more food. He’d been saving his cakes instead of passing them along to Dwight. That certainly didn’t seem to slow down David’s weight gain, but with the looks his fellow survivors were giving him around the fire and the way his jacket was hugging his gut, his weight gain wasn’t slowing down either.

This little get together had been Michael’s idea. It had been hard for Jake to interpret, but the killer had forced a Strode Realty Key into his hand and folded his fingers over it in the last trial they’d had together. That wouldn’t have been odd, but instead of their usual escapade, Michael had immediately left, off to play the Entity’s games until finally tossing Jake through the hatch. Jake had, admittedly, waited a few days, if only because...well…

Jake’s brown-gloved hands slid down his belly, hefting it up at it’s bottom, where it jutted gently out over his jeans.

He wanted to have a couple more cakes before he saw Michael again.

Jake continued to trek towards the Myers’ House, mildly surprised he hadn’t run into a single one of his fellow survivors. He hadn’t heard any generator, but the hatch had spawned in a very visible location, and with the key he’d dropped they could all probably escape to-

Oh….shit.

Coming around a white picket fence, the Myers’ House looked immaculate. Its jack-o-lantern was friendly. Glowing bright. Its front door was intact, freshly painted. The streetlamps in front of it kissed a gentle light over it that made it look warm. Inviting. Jake smiled without realizing it. It was...suburban. Perfectly so. The ideal little house on a picturesque street, white picket fence and all.

Jake breathed in the night air, feeling...oddly at home. It was refreshing. Not some parody of what the world was, but the picturesque nature of it all. The Entity must have worked quite hard on…

Oh shit.

Jake looked with a mix of confusion and awe at the other buildings stretching down the block.

They looked ...wrong. Caving in on themselves. Street lights flickered dimly. Grass looked swampy, more like mounds of weeds. Two houses almost blinked, appearing fuzzy, vanishing from your vision if you looked away. It seemed like the Entity was pouring all its energy into the Myers’ House, which only looked more heavenly, more inviting when Jake looked back to it. He walked up the steps, moving to the front door and turning the brass knob.

The air inside was warm, and rich with cinnamon, cardamon, brown sugar. A generator was nowhere to be seen. A pipe sat in an ashtray on a dark, wooden table in front of a rabbit-eared tv. Jake’s mouth dropped as he realized it was *on*.

“ _ Night of the Living Dead _ ...at least the Entity has a sense of humor.” Jake chuckled to himself, watching the black and white horde of undead stumble towards a farmhouse. A lamp was on next to the sofa, along with a light overhead, and a third beaming from the kitchen. Jake squinted, so used to the dark of every trial, and every moment in the Entity’s realm. He looked to his left, knowing the staircase, but not expecting to see bookcases, framed photos of boats. He ascended the stairs, expecting to find the usual rotting, empty rooms, but instead found a fully furnished Master Bedroom, a bathroom, a guestroom.

The Asian American felt his ass *bounce* as he turned and descended the stairs, each cheek rocking in perfect synchronicity by the time he reached the ground floor. This new weight, new body, was definitely something the former wilderness survivalist was getting used to. Reaching the kitchen, Jake found the source of the smell. He breathed it in, salviating.

A pie.

A goddamn apple pie was baking in a full functional, 1950s-style over. A kitchen island sat perfectly in the center of the small kitchen, the oven in the far corner, followed by a countertop, and then a fridge. Jake opened it, blinking as it was full of food. Bread, milk, eggs...The Entity had really gone all out. No wonder other pieces of the neighborhood looked so incredibly bad. What had Michael done to get all this? Beside the fridge was a door leading to the backyard. Peering out of it, Jake got his answer. 

A firepit, and a rather large one, looked filled to the brim with offerings. Dozens upon dozens of flowers, wreathes, mirrors, a jewelery box. Michael had, seemingly, given *everything* he’d saved up for this perfect little home. Jake turned around, looking to the kitchen island and flushing. There, sitting laid out, was an apron. Bright pink, soft to the touch. It even smelled recently washed.

Jake wrung the cotton garment in his hands, keeping it pressed to his face, taking in the smell of freshly laundered clothes, apple pie. He honestly kept expecting a twist. To find something gory, a body, to hear something terrifying. But it was just...perfect. All of it. But why? Why had Michael fucking Myers asked for this idealic slice of surburna Americana? Jake paced in the kitchen, still taking the environment in.

He slowly unzipped his jacket, sighing as he felt his entrapped middle *ooze* outwards, stretching the fabric of his tee before that too was shed. Jake took his time shedding the jacket, shrugging his shoulders, the *wobble* of his form rolling his shirt up and over his fattened middle, the ritual almost foreplay for himself. Michael has clearly shown interest in his plump little middle, his decadently overfed ass during their last rendezvous, but Jake hadn’t realized exactly how much *he’d* be into it, too. The Asian man brought a gloved hand to his chest, biting his lower lip gently as he palmed what could only be described as a budding  **tit** . Jake bit at his finger, pulling his gloves off one hand at a time, diving his now-bare hands beneath his shirt, those fingers sink, squeezing,  **feeling** all the soft, warm, creamy lard he’d packed onto himself. He’d never been out of shape, nevermind chubby, and now here he stood. In a relationship with a serial killer. 

And  **fat** .

Jake slid his hands below the sharp jut of his belly, tracing the hypersensitive skin of his lower gut where it bulged out over his restrictive pants. In a sudden haze of arousal, Jake tucked his too-small shirt into his pants, sucking in his belly - the sudden, desperate ache of his abs in their long-forgotten fitness sending a pleasured shiver down his spine - and letting it out. Jake’s breath caught in his throat as he found his reflection in the kitchen window.

Jake’s middle stretched the stain fabric of his tee, the trapping of the fabric beneath all that...well...him...making Jake look less like a wilderness-bound, fitness-addict and much more like a sausage about to burst its case. Smoothing his hands down the front of his gut, Jake couldn’t help but notice the way his chest looked far more like plump *breasts*, Jake's straightening of his spine and rolling back of his shoulders not doing enough to spread the fat he’d packed onto his chest wide enough to reshape his moobs into pecs. No. Jake Park had  **tits** now, and that shouldn’t have made the Asian man feel so...hot. Turning to the side, then back to the front, Jake gulped at just how wide he looked, felt. His bare hands snaked their way down his sides, finding and grabbing at love handles - his love handles - perfectly handful-sized masses of caramel lard that, Jake realized, would stay there even if he ever tried to shed these pounds.

He’d eaten himself fat.

Jake Park had eaten himself  **fat** to get a massive, silent killer to fuck the life out of him.

And god, was he turned on by that thought.

Jake flushed as he grabbed the apron - it had to be for him, no way it was for anyone else, certainly not Michael. Slipping it over his head, tying the bright pink string around his back, Jake felt his heart thunder. This was...weird on a new level. He hadn’t known a clean home, freshly washed clothes, certainly not the smell of pie in...Gods. How long?

Bu then he heard footsteps loudly moving up the front steps, announcing themselves, and Jake flew into smoothing the apron down his tubby tummy, up his chest. He even caught himself moving his shaggy, dark hair around his face, behind his ears, as if he was trying to look the part of….what? A little housewife? He wasn’t sure, but hell if he wasn’t going to roll with it.

Jake posed in the kitchen, moving around the island so the front door visible through the long, straight hallway tracing through the tv room.

The door opened.

The Shape stood in its suddenly cavernous entryway, the streetlights illuminating his striking, massive figure, the sound of his rough, panting breaths audible through the ghost-white rubber of his mask.

Jake, trying to play his role, screamed.

Michael closed the door.

Jake blinked for a moment. His mouth fell open, then it closed. Was it...what? Was his scream not high enough? He felt a little foolish, clearing his throat, but he tried to channel ‘Middle Aged Suburbanite’ - he certainly had the hips for it.

The door opened.

Jake screamed, higher now, clutching at his face with his fingers, doing his best to look horrified by the man who’d hunted him down so much he was more like an obstacle than a threat during matches.

Michael closed the door.

Jake-

The door opened again.

Jake only stood there, staring at Michael, before letting out a soft, confused,

“Aaaah.”

Michael huffed. His body tensed up, marching forward in a way that made Jake gulp with anticipation before-

Michael rolled up his mask, revealing his strong jaw, his thin lips. His enormous hand grabbed the pipe in the sitting room, popping it into his mouth and miming smoking it, his dark, mask-covered eyes never leaving Jake, before putting the pipe down and slamming the door.

Michael took a moment to collect himself outside. He put his knife down, realizing it was still in his hands, slapping himself lightly before opening the door to-

Michael let out a low, deep groan.

His shoulders, biceps relaxed, slumping in an almost dreamlike state.

There, leaning over the counter, humming contentedly to himself, was his Jake. His wide, round, gorgeous ass was popped out behind him, hip cocked so that decadent, right cheek was bulging, looking as sumptuous as an overfed BBW’s. Michael let the door close behind him, heart almost visibly swirling around his head as Jake turned, looking at him with nothing short of relaxed adoration.

“Ah, honey. You’re home.” Jake smiled, his eyes closing like a relaxed cat’s.

In a moment Michael was on him. Leaning over the now-giggling man’s back, Michael’s mask rolled back up over his lips, kissing at Jake’s neck, his cheek, huge body pinning the softer, shorter man to his bent position at the counter as Michae’s huge hands roamed up and down Jake’s gut, his chest, smoothing over the delicate pink fabric with an electric desperation.

“Oh my! Someone had a good day at the office! Did you score the Henderson account?” Jake asked, flirtatiously, squirming with delight as Michael let out a breathless little moan.

Taboo meant so many different things to so many different people, Jake thought.

Most people, perfectly normal people, had all sorts of wild fantasies about dungeons and whips and chains. About pain and harsh words. And for most of those people, it was because their daily lives were perfectly normal. Regular. Non-dungeon related. So maybe, just maybe, for a murderous sociopath, nothing was more taboo that a soft, suburbanite fantasy.

In fact, Jake felt sure of that interpretation, given the absurdly hard shaft, gliding between his clothed cheeks as Michael rutted into him like a horny teen.

The Shape was grunting, almost feral as his huge hands untied Jake’s apron, smoothing between it and the tight fabric of Jake’s tee, only pausing his wanton thrusts to lustfully bite Jake’s ear as Michael’s hands greedily  **sank** into the plush abyss of Jake’s gut.

Jake’s heart was pounding. Michael had always been into their time together. But this? This was a level of desperation Michael had never shown before.

“B-Baby” Jake purred, causing Michael’s stiff member to somehow rocket to even further attention beneath his jumpsuit, “I-I’m so embarrassed! You being away all day, taking such good care of me, making enough money that I scarcely have to lift a finger, I…” Jake let his hands slide under his apron, ghosting over Michael’s own before  **forcing** them to grab, squeeze, knead at all the lard of Jake’s gut, 

“I’m worried I’m getting fat.”

That seemed to unhinge the horny killer. Michael hurriedly stepped backwards, visible mouth hanging open, as if he couldn’t possibly get enough air in, hands fumbling with the zipper of his jumpsuit as he tried to toe-off his shoes. Jake turned, quickly taking off his apron, then slowly untucking his shirt. He watched Michael pause, almost frozen all that caramel lard bulged out into the open air. Jutting out over the button of his tight pants, miles of rich, warm pudding appearing before Michael’s covered eyes, the killer’s mouth falling open in abject awe.

Jake traced a hand from his softened neck, down his round, fat belly, making a show of emphasizing the wide curve of that gut, giving its underside a sharp bounce, knowing Michael’s eyes were glued to him beneath his mask, before tracing back up and cupping one of his tits, teasing the nipple of it as Michael looked on.

“Do you think I’m getting fat, baby?” Jake asked, letting his head move relaxedly to the side as Michael finished shedding his shoes, his jumpsuit. The man’s wide, pale shoulders and strong chest tapered to a toned, solid waist, completely bare now that the suit was shed. A pair of white briefs tented to obscenely, so soaked with pre-cum Michael’s massive cock was essentially on display as the killer slipped to his knees. He looked up at Jake, nodding, before moving his mouth to Jake’s gut with nothing short of  **worship** . He kissed, mouthed, gently nipped at the Asian man’s overfed gut, Jake tempted to tug the man’s mask off, but hesitant to ruin the mood.

Jake’s head lolled back as Michael hastily undid his pants, letting out a gasp as his gut bounced free of his constraints, earning a sharp  **bite** from Michael’s straight, white teeth, Michael’s hands jumping up to roughly grab, squeeze, wobble the man’s love handles, before one hand ripped away Jake’s underwear, the smaller man’s pre-cum soaked cock bouncing free with such a force it  **slapped** his bloated gut, while the other dove hand into the jumpsuit hanging around his thighs to grab and nearly empty a small container of lube along his and Jake’s cocks, Michael’s own fingers.

“Are you sure? It isn’t just my abs that I’ve lost, honey. It’s...well…” Jake sighed, stepping out of his fallen pants, his ruined undergarments and turning, waving his massive ass in Michael’s face, “That toned little ass you loved to plow is looong gone.” Jake panted, eyes going a little wild as Michael’s teeth  **sunk** into his bubbled right cheek, Michael’s face pressing against that enormous ass with huffed breaths of needy arousal.

Then those lubed fingers were between the man’s cheeks, testingly warming up the Asian man’s hole. 

“H-Hah! Fuck! I-I’ve got such a big, fat ass now, baby. You fed me up into your soft, fat little housewife.” Jake gasped.

Michael whined, rising, thoroughly beginning to work his lover open with one hand, his free hand wantonly grabbed, bouncing, fondling Jake’s budding chest,

“I just-Just sit around all day watching soaps. Cleaning your house. G-Gossiping with the neighbors,” Jake panted, groaned as Michael’s fingers hurriedly worked him open, the killer’s breath coming in pants against his ear, counter digging into his doughy gut as Michael so desperately pushed himself against him.

“ **Eating.** ” Jake huffed, grinning as he felt Michael’s fingers pull out, the killer’s cock gliding between his cheeks, Michael almost animalistic in his grunts, his groan, hands grasping, grabbing, wobbling Jake’s fat ass as the Asian man smiled wider, reveling in his sexual control of the massive killer.

“All I do is eat now. Gorge. Baking and shoveling sugar into my face until you come home and pack me full of cock.” Jake panted, Michael letting out a deep, low whine, sinking his teeth into Jake’s ear as he rutted between Jake’s cheeks hard, faster. Jake was nearly drunk off it, the sheer desperation radiating from Michael. Jake’s hand reached out for the pie, grabbing a mess handful and stuffing it in.

“I’m just your fat, greedy housewife,” He growled, “And I’m  **hungry** .”

It was the words, the food, the messy grab for more sugar that tipped Michael over the edge.

He jolted back, before slamming himself into his prepared lover, Jake crying out in an orgasmic bliss before Michael’s free hand slamming his mouth into the pie.

The killer bucked widely, Jake messily eating, gorging, making a show of covering his face with warm apple and crust, slopping down mouthful after mouthful of pie, Michael’s hand keeping him in place as the killer’s eyes rolled back in his head, his other hand wandering, grabbing at every fatty centimeter of Jake he could find.

Finishing the pie Jake felt bloated, overfed. Full. 

Fat.

He grunted, resting his cheek in the mess of apple-scented sugar before letting out a hedonistic cry, painting the underside of the kitchen island with his ecstasy.

Michael didn’t last much longer after that, grabbing Jake by the hair and tugging him up to muffle his own scream of pleasure into the Asian man’s neck as he pulled out to paint Jake’s overfed backside.

Slowly Michael pulled out, his strong, solid body holding his limp lover upright, though Michael’s knees shook from the sheer power of, well, everything they’d just done.

As if he weighed nothing, Michael easily lifted Jake, carrying him bridal-style upstairs and laying him slowly on the bed, hovering above him as the man lazily wiped his face on the satin sheets, barely a thought in his head. Jake patted the space beside him, and Michael slowly laid down, stiff and awkward as a board before Jake, after a failed attempt, rolled to his side.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Jake watched as Michael didn’t roll to face him, simply turning his masked face to gaze upon the fattened figure of his lover, proud and messy and on display before him.

“So,” Jake said, casually, before taking Michael’s hand and bringing it to rest on the gut oozing out between them,  
“Think you can ask the entity for another pie?”

Michael’s breathing grew heavier.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Definitely’.”


	3. Playing House - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how soft is our hero getting? And just how much reality can these two pull from their soft, suburbanite fantasy?

Jake woke up.

Oh...that was...strange.

Waking up. That wasn’t normally how anything started in the Entity’s domain.

Jake blinked, looking to his left, finding Michael sound, deep asleep beside him. They didn’t usually stay together for too long after their flings. It used to be less than five minutes before Jake had started gaining weight. Quick, meaningless, desperate rutting and heat. Michael was the most human-looking of all the killers, and he seemed somewhere between fascinated by and obsessed with Jake from the moment he was pulled into the Entity’s Domain. Now that they had Lampkin Lane, that this whole role play had evolved, that Jake was...fat, it seemed like they suddenly had to cool down before going back to...well...all the other Hell around them. Jake would stay a half-hour, sometimes more, before the Entity started phasing other bit of existence back into Haddonfield, and the tv stopped playing  _ Night of the Living Dead _ , and the light clicked off, and the smell of apple pie faded and all that was left was an overweight survivalist and a serial killer. And Michael would quietly walk Jake to the edge of his realm, and the Entity would carve a little path back to the campfire. And Jake and Michael would save up offerings and they’d do it all over again.

But this time, this time, they’d fallen asleep.

Time spent in the Entity’s realm rarely meant sleep. Survivors' bodies didn’t really  **need** rest, simply resetting at the Campfire the moment they were out of a trial. Wounds healed. Sweat wicked away. Clothes cleaned. Napping could certainly pass the time, but more often survivors were sitting around the fire chatting, or sharing stories. 

Or waiting in anxious dread of the next horrendous, death-slinging ordeal the Sky Octopus was going to strike down onto them.

Most of the survivors couldn’t really relax. Some could see the more determined Killers, the Hag, the Nightmare, just at the edge of the light. Stalking. As if waiting for the next Trial to begin. And even if a few survivors could relax, most didn’t like to. Relaxing meant letting your guard down. Letting your guard down meant two seconds of adjustment in your next trial. Two seconds meant the difference between escaping and getting stabbed to death. Or chainsawed in two. Or shot through the chest with a crossbow. Or-

Jake shook his head.

He stared up at the ceiling.

The young, Asian-American was learning that some killers  **preferred** their own realms, Michael included. At least, he preferred it now. friends at the Campfire away from the Killers’ Realms, biting their nails, wondering what hell would come next.

He was laying on satin sheets, in a two story suburban home.

That felt…

Well it should’ve felt  **wrong** **_._ **

It should have felt like he was betraying his friends. That he was abandoning them. In fact, Michael hadn’t properly killed Jake in what felt like...months. He even seemed, marginally, less interested in Jake’s friends, at least when Jake was playing alongside them. And the last time he’d spoken to Dwight, the nervous survivor had actually said he hadn’t faced Michael in a trial in more than two weeks.

Jake felt the distinctive  **slosh** of his overfed gut as he huffed and puffed in attempting to tip himself up to a seated position. The desperate groan the mattress released as Jake’s round, fat ass counterbalanced his wobbling arm enough to get the survivor up.

His stomach gurgled, almost angrily. Jake brought a hand to the top of it. As doughy as he was getting, he could still feel the tight, hard, round bulge of his stomach against his hand. Though that shouldn’t have shocked him, Jake having just eaten enough cake to-

**HOOURRP**

To....that…

Jake’s hands rushed to cover his mouth, blushing bright, his heart pounding. That sound had been so...so piggish. The sound he’d heard the overfed businessmen his father associated with bellow out in between cigars and steaks bigger than his head. Slowly, Jake’s hands fell to back the high, taut curve of his overstuffed middle. He could hear the excess sugar churning inside him, still taste the sweet, rich chocolate of it on his tongue. He’d been saving cakes up, not that it had taken long, it seemed like the Entity was giving him them with suspicious frequency. Michael had fed him more than ever. It’d been nearly six months since that first night in the shack, when Jake had been so nervous to show Michael that he didn’t have abs. Now? Now Jake felt certifiably  **fat** . Big. Round. Jiggly. He looked very much the part of a spoiled househusband.

Jake flushed, feeling his cock  **slap** his lower gut.

That thought shouldn’t have been half as arousing as it was. Especially because it was only half as arousing as the sound the mattress let out as Jake turned his head to face Michael.

The slow, pained wheeze that whined out of the Queen-sized mattress as Jake readjusted his wide, round ass should’ve probably insulted the young Asian-American.

Instead it made his cock  **pulse** .

Jake’s hand reached out to hover over the completely unblemished, purely white back of one Michael Myers, before darting back quickly to his side.They’d played house long enough for those soft little gestures to work in the heat of the moment, but that didn’t mean Jake wanted to rouse a serial killer and gamble with whether or not he was horny enough to not stab him.

Though...maybe that wasn’t giving Michael enough credit...

Jake pressed his palm into his slightly softened cheek, running a thumb over his jawline to remind him it was still there, given how fast his face was rounding out. He looked down, watching the giant man breath, the sound no longer as menacing as before all...this. The distinctly large, muscular, ivory figure of Michael Myers lazing face down behind him.

Okay, there was a  **lot** about the current situation that was strange.

So much so that...well...maybe it was starting to feel good.


	4. Playing House - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At what point during the game do you stop playing? At what point do you realize that you stopped playing a while ago?
> 
> Lots of belly and heft description here, along with further descent into gluttony and hedonism. No smut in this chapter, just a fatty and a mirror.

Jake tried not to flush as his first steps from the bedroom rumbled a deep, wet belch out of him. 

He failed.

Even having done this so many times - the house, the cake, the sex - the physical reminders of his unabashed, lustful gluttony made color rise to the Asian-American man’s tanned cheeks. And that wasn’t the only place blood was rushing.

Jake felt his cock  **slap** the underside of his doughy gut, not sure if he was out of breath from sheer arousal -

Or because he was  **just that out of shape** .

Jake felt his cock  **leak** at the thought. His trained, toned, hyper-fit survivalist body  **melted** in just a few months of overeating.

Overeating because of a man who never showed his face, loved violence, and was comically into the idea of Jake Park swelling up into a wide-assed, overfed, pampered little housewife.

Jake swallowed hard, still tasting the sweet, bright pink frosting from the cake Michael’s huge, pale hands had crammed into him. It stuck to his tongue, down his throat, landing in his belly like a stone atop the miles and miles of calorie-dense sugar his tall, muscular lover had so forcefully, so perfectly  **packed** into him. He gasped around the swallow, frosting-stained hand finding his cock to needily stroke the- Oh sweet Jesus-

The  _ padded _ length of his normally impressive member.

Jake bit at the knuckles of his free hand. Licking and sucking at the pink residual sweetness, Jake leaned to knock the faucet with his elbow, quickly darting his hands into the cool, clear water.

Jake cleared his throat, sucking in a breath through his teeth in some effort to calm himself down. It had never lasted this long - playing house. Maybe it was because Michael had stuffed Jake so tight. Maybe it was because they’d fallen asleep after. Maybe it was just because the Entity was bored. But normally he and Michael made their awkward goodbyes and started saving up offerings to come back here. But even beyond that, this time felt...different. There was  **more** this time.

Jake snorted. 

“Yeah,  _ more _ ” The Asian-American man said to himself, snaking his now-clean hands beneath his gut and giving it a light  **heft** , letting it drop. He gulped at its edge  **kissed** the cold ceramic, and image flashing in his mind of Michael behind him, purring proudly as Jake panted, the warm, tan fat of his belly  **spreading** and  **oozing** round and wide enough to fill up the entirety of the sink. Jake flushed, finding his own eyes in the mirror. The mirror?

Yes. There was more this time.

A mirror sat on the wall in front of him, covering a medicine cabinet, in a bathroom that...well was not normally  **part** of this whole game. Jake tugged the cabinet open, finding two toothbrushes sitting behind it. One blue. One green.

Jake picked up the green one, tugging open a half-used tube of toothpaste, and smelling mint for the first time in…

Jesus. How long had he been in this place?

Jake attempted not to be dramatic as he touched the tube to the brush, placed the brush into his mouth.

Jake nearly moaned, breath coming in quick pumps through his nose as he  **tasted** something other than cake. He groaned, brushing his tongue more roughly, some part of his mind imagining the thick richness of mint ice cream. In his mind Jake saw himself on his knees, drooling looking up at Michael with  **hunger** in his eyes. Instead of a knife, his Myers wielded a can of whipped cream, forcefully jamming the nozzle into his mouth between bites of mint and chocolate. Jake saw his cheeks bulging in obscenity as he relished into tasting, feeling the cool bite of spearmint, the oozing want of chocolate. His wide ass flooded over his heels, gut surging forward as Michael filled him with more and more and-

Jake’s eyes shot wide.

He quickly spit into the sink as red crept from his cheeks to the tips of his ear. When did the idea of food, the need to taste, to  **feel** flavor on his tongue make him so desperate?

Jake swore he heard some amused rumbling from the clouds outside Lampkin Lane’s windows, causing the survivor to only blush brighter.

“If you feed on emotion, I hope you get as fucking fat as I do!” He shouted, turning back to the mirror, hurriedly packing the toothbrush, toothpaste into it.

He turned, about to leave, then paused.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, a grin spreading across his face he looked to the rest of the bathroom. The shower was too modern, looking entirely out of place in such a normal, suburban home. With a bench, four glass walls, and two showerheads, it looked more like something out of a high-bachelor pad than the classic, Psycho-esque, curtained shower. The Entity had clearly thrown this room together without too much understanding of how style worked. Or space worked. The bathroom itself seemed bigger than the shape of the house or the room from the outside might let on.

Jake cocked his head at the shower, grinning, almost  **daring** the Entity to stop whatever roll it was on in re-creating a suburban dream for Michael.

“Come on, you wouldn’t break the fantasy this deep, would you?” Jake mocked. 

He didn’t expect the knob to turn. Hell, he was shocked the sink even had water. Survivors didn’t need to eat. Or sleep. They didn’t sweat outside of trials. Blood, dirt, it all wicked away in an instant, seemingly whenever the Entity wanted. As far as Jake was concerned, they were this thing’s dolls. Playthings. Nonliving, barely sentient feeling-sponges that it could gorge fear and adrenaline from.

So Jake’s face was priceless when a jet of hot water flattened his hair.

He let out a yelp, falling back onto his padded ass with a noticeable  **thump** .

Jesus he was getting heavy.

Jake stumbled to his feet, half-chuckling.

“Well damn. Okay. I’ll take a shower, if you’re going out of your way with this little Barbie-Dream-House gig.” Jake said. He wiggled his toes, suddenly feeling a soft, fluffy bathmat beneath them.

_ How much longer until you can’t see those anymore? _ Jake swore he heard float through the open window. The Asian man huffed, flushing in further anger as he looked in the mirror.

Jake’s naked form was wrapped in a warm, equally fluffy, bright pink bath towel. He wouldn’t have been so furious about the color, had the towel sat below his waist. No, no instead the towel hugged Jake’s softened body under his armpits and below his collarbone, squashing his chest into a decadent mound of caramel cleavage. Jake gulped, barely recognizing the fit, toned man that had entered the Entity’s domain, the image of a fat, pampered suburbanite filling his vision as steam began to cloud the mirror. Jake’s his eyes tracing the obscenely round curve of his gut. He looked..curvy. Decadent. 

The living image of a spoiled little housewife.

Jake let the towel drop, and watched his cock spring to life.

If this had all started as a game, as a way to better control the serial killer he’d been so desperate to fuck so many moons ago, he was into it now. Jake Park was spoiled rotten.

And god did he like it.


	5. Finding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake thinks back to he and Michael's first time together.
> 
> They also fuck in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very long and plotty chapter, but it's also full of kink and sex! Please enjoy, please comment.

Jake moaned.

He let his mouth fall open, gut relaxing further out as warm water filled his mouth. He gave himself a few long, slow gulps, only turning away from the spray as he felt his overfed middle begin to slosh. 

“Okay, I take it back, this is a perfect fantasy. You’re doing a good job.” Jake said, sighing happily. His soft hands ran wide, delicate circles over his rounded belly, fingers creeping underneath it to heft it up, let it drop.

The thunder outside let out a low rumble, and immediately Jake was hit with a jet of ice-cold water.

He screeched, jumping in the massive shower, leaping away from the water a the rumbling clouds outside sounded very much like  _ laughter _ .

“I take it back! You’re a bastard!”

Jake chuckled, sitting on the small, black, stone stool away from the jet of water. Gods, this shower was massive. He told himself he was doing it to ensure he was not about to pranked by the crab-sky-monster-deity again, and certainly not because  _ he was getting lazy _ . Jake flushed, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest, trying to ignore the feeling of the meaty mounds of caramel on his chest to press,  _ squash _ into decadent cleavage, padded arms resting all too comfortably atop of wide, doughy gut. He felt soft. Spoiled. He sighed, letting himself get lost in the moment, daring to let his eyes fall closed, to let his head roll back and rest against the shower’s wall. Jake let his leg extend out, toes brushing through the warm stream of water. He tried to ignore-

No. Just this once, just for this moment, Jake  **admired** the way his creamy thighs rubbed together. Stretching his once-strong arms upward, Jake felt himself smile, sigh as the overinflated mound of lard that used to be his abs quivered, then landed back atop his kissing thighs. He found himself laughing, wrist falling over his closed eyes.

It was a mad sight. 

Jake Park, former wilderness survivalist, blown up and playing happy housewife to a serial killer. Even more wild as Jake let himself think back to how this all began…

  
  


To call Michael a rebound wasn’t entirely accurate.

Dwight Fairfield, awkward, nerdy, adorable Dwight Fairfield, had never  **actually** been Jake’s boyfriend. They were two of the first survivors, and having been in the Entity’s domain longer than any of the other survivors, had hooked up a few times when they’d first been stolen into this world. Sloppy, desperate, mostly fear-based hookups. Dwight was sweet. Soft. He liked to cuddle. Liked to run his pale fingers down Jake’s muscular chest, tracing the firm squares of his abs. But Jake wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or a romantic partner, or even friends. It was hard enough running around with three other strangers in this hellscape, he couldn’t risk caring about any of them. Claudette, Meg, even Dwight...they were tools. Ways for him to survive. And if he could help them out, great.

He was a lone survivalist.

And so, Dwight had...broken it off.

If it was only physical, he wasn’t interested.

That had...hindered team dynamics for a while. Trials were tough. The campfire, even with the four of them sitting together, was...lonely.

Then Nea showed up. Then Laurie.

And with Laurie came…

Michael.

A towering, muscular, ivory statue of a sociopath.

And the first man Jake had seen in a long time that wasn’t impaled with spikes, horrifically mutilated, or Dwight.

So when Meg brought a key, and she, Nea, and Claudette had escaped through the hatch on Lampkin Lane, Jake found himself standing in the middle of a cracked, broken street, staring down Michael as the serial killer slammed the hatch shut.

He was stuck. 

Still needed to unlock the exit gate, the killer knowing exactly where he was.

Michael raised his knife.

Jake put down his toolbox.

Michael paused, his head giving the smallest, barest of  _ tilts _ .

‘Alright’, Jake thought..

‘Fuck it.’

Jake’s gloved fingers moved to his mouth, perfectly straight teeth biting, tugging at the fingers until both his hands were free. His bare hands traced up to the zipper of his dark green jacket, breath coming in short, hot pants as he tugged, gliding the zipper apart and letting his jacket fall over his shoulders, down his arms. In another, swift motion his shirt was tugging up, over the thick crop of messy, dark hair atop his tan skull, leaving the survivor shirtless, panting in the open air. Jake could barely hear the sound of cawing crows over the thunder of his heartbeat, but he didn’t stop.

Michael had lowered the knife, his head tilting, looking upon Jake in what can only be described as  _ fascination _ . 

Jake’s fingers fumbled with his pants, muttering out a curse as he stumbled out of his shoes, toed off his socks before jerking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, undergarments and forcing them down.

His muscular body shuddered under the harsh light of the streetlamps, as if the Entity themself was watching, a mix of shock, horror, and interest surging like lightning across the sky as Jake’s cock sprung free, as hard as his toned pecs, his cut obliques, his bulging triceps.

Jake barely had a moment to realize how insane this all was. He was objectifying a literal serial killer. Someone who was actively trying to-

Jake saw stars as his head, his spine made contact with the cool steel of the police cruiser in the center of the street. Red and blue lights flickered as Jake groaned, suddenly feeling hot, needy lips pressing into his own. Michael’s hands ran up and down his naked sides, Jake gasping as he kissed back, his small hands rushing to the top of Michael’s jumpsuit, tearing the zipper down and diving, cupping, kneading the killer’s massive chest.

Michael’s low, breathy growl was enough to send a surge of pre-cum blasting onto Jake’s abs, one of the killer’s hands easily cupping Jake’s tight, tiny ass to support him as the other darted to, fished out his own cock.

Jake blinked, gazing upon the cold darkness of the eyes of Michael’s mask, the rubber of it tugged up to just below his nose. The killer was damn near drooling, soft, pink lips shining before his teeth sunk into Jake’s neck. The young, Asian-American man cried out, whining Michael’s name. Michael seemed to only grow more heated, more desperate as this, taking an ivory hand and closing it around his and Jake’s cocks, slicked and warm with their combined pre-cum, furiously pumping, Michael’s hips bucking madly as a finger on Michael’s free hand teased Jake’s hole.

Jake’s eyes nearly rolled back.

He- It was- Fuck, it had been so long since anyone had touched him like-

Jake came mere moment later, his entire form shuddering, vision going white as he painted Michael’s jumpsuit with his ecstasy.

He weakly fumbled his hands between them, taking Michael’s cock from the killer’s hand and pumping, letting Michael buck now that both hands could  _ clap _ onto Jake’s tight, toned little ass.

“M-Michael! Ha! Fu-Fuck!” Jake panted, smirking as the killer bucked harder, faster, his exposed mouth and lips shifting into a desperate “O” before-

Jake felt his ass hit the pavement.

He looked down, stunned, his abs covered in a mix of his and the killer’s seed, then looked up to see Michael hurriedly powerwalking back to his knife.

Jake had enough sense to jump up, sprint naked for the nearest gate, powering it up, and running his bare ass out, brick and weeds vanishing into fog before he arrived - clothed - at the campfire.

  
  


Jake felt his stomach gurgle.

He blinked, coming back from his memories.

They’d fucked a lot since that first night. But this, last night, this game...it was the first time they’d really spent...time together. Flings between trials. Wild, hurried fucking in the dark. That was different from calling Michael his “Hubby” and laying down next to him to sleep, no matter how much it drove the killer mad with lust. 

How much longer could they stay in limbo? How much longer could they-

Jake felt a chill down his spine.

He hurried to standing, feeling his gut grumble unhappily at such a speedy moment.

The shower’s glass walls were steamed, and Jake jumped back, heart pounding at the sight before him.

Michael.

Mask and jumpsuit on, knife in hand, breath coming heavy from behind his mask.

Jake swore he heard an amused rumble outside.

Jake and Michael had never stayed this long on Lampkin Lane before, and clearly  **something** was reverting Michael to...the Shape. The sky grew dark outside, the lights in the bathroom almost painfully bright as the Shape hefted the butcher knife into the air. Deep, ominous thunder rolled through the clouds, an amused cackle, the Entity ready to gorge on the fear, the horror, the betray-

“Oh, there you are, honey!” Jake giggled.

The Shape froze.

The thunderous laughter died.

Jake slid the glass door of the shower a bit wider. His eyes were soft, innocent. His voice just a kiss higher than it normally was, his “Pretty Housewife” voice. He peaked his head out a bit, grinning so his chubbening cheeks would bunch into ripe apples. He slid a wet hand through his hair, then sighed, letting his dark locks fall wet and messy along his temple.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up! I was...getting awfully lonely in here.” Jake purred, bringing his first finger to his lip and giving it a nibble.

The Shape...Michael lowered his blade, letting it clatter to the floor.

“There’s just  **so much** of me to soap up, I could really use my big, strong husband’s help.” Jake cooed, before winking. He slid the door closed, steam on the glass keeping him from viewing the serial killer standing just a few feet away. The water pounded onto him, but the only thing Jake could hear was his heart thundering in his ears.

In one final move, Jake traced his fingers in the shape of heart on the glass of the door, kissing its center.

Michael took in a sharp breath.

And a moment later the sound of Michael’s jumpsuit unzipping echoed into the shower.

“Suck my dick you fucking sky crab.” Jake grinned.

Then yelped as a quick jet of cold water slapped his back.

Jake balre had a moment to celebrate before the door slid open again.

“Fuck.” 

There was a reason Jake’s cock had  **jumped** the first time he’d seen Michael. A reason he’d stripped himself naked in the street for the chance to get pounded by the towering, silent killer.

Ivory feet traced up to toned, muscular calves, which in turn lead to thick, meaty thighs.The man was entirely smooth, expect for a tight nest of curls at the base of a simple mammoth cock. A tight V traced out from Michael’s crotch, Jake reaching out to lay a hand on Michael’s defined obliques, drift across his abs. Jake’s mouth moved to tease, suck on Michael’s bare pectoral, tongue flicking across a pink nipple as Jake’s tan hands reached beyond Michael to slid the shower door shut once again.

Michael moaned, his masked head leaning back, resting against the glass as Jake’s gut pressed Michael’s tight, toned form against the door entirely. Jake hummed in small victory as he felt Michael’s cock twitch, come to life against his pudgy underbelly, the serial killer’s hands reaching out to grab at Jake’s face, tugging it up to kiss the rubber lips of his mask.

Jake let the kiss break, staring into the dark, endless void of the mask’s dark eyes before stepping back. His hands drifted to cup Michael’s over his face, before bringing one to his rolled, left side, and one to his right tit.

“Just look what you  **did** to me, Michael.” Jake murmured, his voice floating up, swirling about Michael’s head as his hands  **pressed** Michael’s hands deep into his lard. He freed the hand guiding Michael to his breast, bringing it low, under his own gut and hefting it up, letting it drop, sending all the warm, wet caramel dancing beneath Michael’s fingers. Michael moaned, kneading the creamy lard of Jake’s chest, his side, letting himself be guided, overtaken as Jake’s hands brought his own to the wide shelf of his gut. 

Jake moved forward again, flooding his belly over the killer’s tight abs, trapping Michael’s hands between the tight muscle of his abs and the endless sea of warmth that was Jake’s gut. Pre-cum leaked from Michael’s cock as Jake bucked his hips, fucking Michael with his gut before taking a step back, cupping each of his tits in his hands and squashing them together into a mound of decant cleavage.

“I was so fit, so toned. I could run for miles and miles. Never cared about food. And look at me now? A big-titted sow. Gorging myself on cake while you work so hard for me. Begging you to feed me. To make me fatter. I traded my abs, my six-pack, for this overfed gut. Not to even mention my ass…” Jake teased, turning around and-

And that’s when Michael pounced.

Jake gasped as the killer moved him as if he weighed nothing, like a chef hefting up a mound of dough. Michael slammed Jake’s hands against the far wall of the shower, before  **clapping** his own hands to each of Jake’s cheeks with such a  **force** Jake could already feel two, bright pink handprints forming there. His own cock rocketed to attention.

“F-Fuck! M-Michael! You made me so fat. Fed me. Blew me up into this wide-assed, hungry housewife! My tiny, tight little ass ballooned so big, so fat! I can’t even imagine what anyone would say if they saw me like this. That hot, toned, fit neighbor. The one who used to survive on nuts and berries in the woods, spoiled into Michael Myer’s personal pillow!” 

Jake moaned as Michael’s bare lips found his neck, sucking a claiming mark as Michael’s fingers slid beneath his cheeks, eagerly began to work him open.

“I-I’m only going to get bigger! Fatter! You’re going to keep spoiling me, keep fattening me up, and I don’t want you to stop! I’m already so bellied, so round. I’m getting tits. Love handles. And my ass is-”

Jake gasped as Michael slapped said fat, full ass  **hard** .

“Fuck! M-Michael! I’m yours! You made me so big! So goddamn FAT!” Jake cried, a deep, rumbling moan rolling out a Michael as the man slid himself into Jake. One of Michael’s hands clasped his more-than-budding left tit, the other reaching out, grabbing, wobbling each and every inch of Jake’s gut that he could find.

Jake could only gasp, no more coherent thoughts left in his head as Michael pounded him into the shower’s wall. The sensation of Michael’s hands on him, of Michael inside him, of his new, overfed found  **wobbling** which each, quickening thrust of Michael’s tight hips, it was all too much for his brain to handle. In that moment there was no Lampkin Lane. There was no Entity. There was only him. Him and Michael.

A deep, strangled sound emerged from the silent killer’s chest as Michael pulled out, shot his ecstasy across Jake’s wide back. 

Jake’s knees wobbled, Michael wrapping a protective around around the Asian-American man’s waist, holding him up, massive bicep flexing into the man of Jake’s middle. Jake felt heady with around, his own, furious cock leaking against his gut, head spinning as he blinked back to reality.

He was just about to reach for his cock, finish the job when he heard the sound of...of plastic hitting rubber. A quick darting of his eyes to the left and-

Michael’s mask. Laying at the side of the drain.

“Michael-” Jake said, beginning to turn, his eyes wide.

A giant, pale hand gently grabbing his chin.

Michael’s thumb and first finger gripped tightly, keeping Jake’s vision towards the wall. But this act wasn’t of malice. No. Michael’s heart thundered against Jake’s back, his foot moving about to try and get the mask back towards his, clearly shucked off during the heat of the moment.  
“Michael it’s...it’s okay. I won’t look if you don’t want me to see.” Jake said, honestly.

Michael paused. And then his hand released Jake’s face.

“I’m gonna turn now.” Jake said, keeping his eyes closed. He felt his belly brush, press against Michael’s abs. 

“See? All okay.” He added, before feeling Michael’s lips on his cheek. On each of his eyes. It was...different, tender. Soft.

“I’ll um...you can...knock twice when you want me to open, alright?” Jake said, a small, grumbled sound rumbling back as a reply, before Michael’s fingers were threaded in his own.

Clumsily, Michael moved Jake across the shower, shoving him lightly into the seat in the corner. Jake landed with a  **thump** , his round ass, gut, love handles bouncing from the blind impact enough to send his cock slapping into his underbelly again.

“M-Michael, what-” Jake gasped, feeling Michael’s hand hands push his thick, fatty thighs apart and set about  **worshipping** them with his mouth.

“Fuck! Ah! M-Michael!”

The man’s mouth was everywhere, Jake inability to see where he was going next only making his heart pound harder, his cock once again leaking as Michael’s teeth nipped his underbelly before sliding around the head of his cock.

Jake’s hands were guided to grip into Michael’s long hair as the killer’s lips glided over Jake’s shaft. Jake groaned, puffing out his gut as Michael’s hands reached up to slap, grip, wobble the hefting mass off it, his forehead bobbing into it.

“W-Won’t be long before you have to...have to heft it up to...to find my cock.” Jake panted, whimpering as Michael moaned around his cock, the thought enough to drive both men wild. Michael’s left hand moved back to Jake’s thighs, gripping, fondling the creamy lard there as he bobbed faster, his right hand finding, squeezing, testing the sheer  **size** of Jake’s love handle.

“I...I want to be so much fatter, Michael. I want you to feed me. Claim me. Make me so, fucking  **fat** !” Jake cried, his fingers gripping tight at Michael’s hair as he came harder than perhaps he ever had before.

Jake saw stars behind his eyelids, whimpered with affection, with thanks as Michael kissed his thighs, up his belly, his tits, before finally catching his lips, kissing him slow, deep. These kisses were so rare, and here they were, domestic as can be, kissing like they were...a real couple.

Michael kneaded the seated Asian-American survivalist’s gut for a few minutes more. His face nuzzled into the crooked of Jake’s neck, Jake nervous about just how  **good** Michael’s face felt pressed against him. Michael kissed him again, slowly, without the horny desperation that so often existed between them, and Jake was nervous about just how good that felt too.

The shower turned off on its own, the thunder outside rumbling with annoyance.

Jake opened his mouth to speak, and found Michael’s hands slipping into his own. The killer guided him to the entrance to the shower, slid the door open, then pressed a hand to his chest to stop him.

A few moments later, he knocked.

Jake opened his eyes.

A familiar figure in the doorway. Facing away from Jake, Michael was clad in his dark shoes, his jumpsuit, but Jake’s mouth fell open.

Michael’s mask sat in his hands.

Rich, dark brown curls rested atop Michael’s head. The killer turned, ever-so-slightly, as if to make sure Jake was looking at him, letting Jake catch just the quickest image of a strong-jawed face, before Michael hurriedly slipped his mask back on.

  
  


Jake’s heart pounded as he dressed himself, the two of them walking in silence to the edge of Michael’s domain.

“I...until next time, then.” Jake said, breaking the quiet.

He turned away, only for Michael’s hand to grab his own.

Muscular arms wrapped around the overfed survivor’s fattened form, sinking in. Michael’s mask found the crook of Jake’s neck once more. Before Jake could react, Michael was quickly pushing him away, out, into the darkness.

Jake’s heart pounded as his eyes opened next to the campfire.

This was either incredibly good.

Or incredibly bad.

And Jake fearfully found himself full of hope for the former.


End file.
